"you hate me," nicholas whispers, lips brushing against his pulse, feeling the way it races. his grip tightens around euijoo's waist, possessive. "because i make you weak." euijoo should be furious. should shove him away. should press the gun deeper and remind himself that this is war, that this isn't a game, that nicholas is the reason for the blood on his hands, the scars on his body, the weight in his chest that never goes away. but nicholas is so warm. and euijoo is so cold. so he kisses him back. (or: euijoo never thought he'd see nicholas again-until the day he's sent to hunt him down. now, standing on opposite sides of a war, with a gun between them, euijoo realizes too late- nicholas was never just another criminal. and he was never just another enforcer. )

it wasn't his enemies that brought the king of the undercity to his knees. it never is. (or: six months after - nicholas loses himself. euijoo finds him. and everyone caught in between left holding the pieces.) sequel to art of breaking.